Chapter 5

FIVE

ARIANNA

With a firm grip on my bare upper arm, my new husband shuffles me inside the back room, which is a lounge that smells like cheap beer, weed, and stripper sweat. My lips still tingle and my head feels dizzy from the kiss I just had with him. What was that? It wasn’t like anything I’ve experienced before.

Despite a cursory glance at my new surroundings when I turn around, Wyatt’s eyes never depart from my face, stalking us until Asa reaches for the door. My stomach knots watching his approach, worried he’ll get hurt. Abruptly, he charges in, while Asa stands, stunned, at the intruder.

“What the actual fuck, dude? Do you have a death wish?” Asa drops my arm and grips Wyatt’s throat in his tattooed hand, thrusting his back against the nearest wall while Wyatt’s fingers struggle to reach out for me. Biting my lower lip, I don’t know what to do. Do I help my boyfriend? Or my new husband?

A tiny, voiceless laugh seeps through his lips as he narrows his eyes at Ace. “She’s coming with me.”

“Um, in case you hadn’t noticed, wildcard, that’s my wife, Adrianna Donovan.”

Irritation flames across my cheeks as I place my hands on my hips. “Arianna,” I correct him. Of course, he wouldn’t remember. The moment we had together must have been fleeting for him.

Asa’s head whips to me, his dazzling blue eyes wide, but his perfectly styled blond mohawk never moves. “Oh…fuck. Arianna Donovan.” He says it slowly, like it’s the first time he’s heard it. My eyes narrow at him in a warning. The wolf on his neck roars as he twists it back to Wyatt. “You heard the man up there speak. She’s my wife now. Sugar lips, hand me that gun on that table over there.” Snapping his fingers at me, he points to the pistol, waving his hand impatiently as if he’s already asked a few times. I waltz over casually, my skirts rustling and the train catching on my legs before I grip the weapon, then hold it up, and point it right at my husband’s head.

“What are you doing?” His lip sneers at me, and I take some sick pleasure in his discomfort.

“Let him go.” My hand isn’t even shaking when I make the demand. I’ve never shot a gun before and this one is heavy, but I can figure it out. Asa stares at me with bewilderment. Shaking the handle of it at him, I fake how serious I am. He needs to know I won’t let him harm Wyatt. “He’s just trying to protect me.”

“Good girl, vix.” Wyatt says while keeping his gaze fixed on Asa. Do I want to shoot my new husband? No. But I will if I have to. My pulse rate climbs the longer they stare at one another.

Shoving his forearm into Wyatt’s chest, Asa leans in until their noses touch. “What’s your name, joker?”

Swallowing, Wyatt stares him down until his eyes almost disappear. It’s the same look he gave me the day I told him I had to marry Asa to save my brother. Silently, I will him to cooperate and get out alive. “Wyatt Steele.”

“Well, Wynona, you can get the fuck out of my establishment. Don’t come back unless you want your body parts shredded and disposed of in Needle River.” Asa backs up two steps and nods at me, but I continue to point the gun at his head, not trusting that he won’t try something. My muscles are tense with concern, watching the scene unfold before me.

Wyatt coughs and shakes his head. “You’re a real fucking maverick, aren’t you?” Brushing off his black T-shirt, he saunters to the door, but pauses before leaving and finds my face with his serious green eyes. “Ari, if you have trouble, you call me.” If I could melt at his words, I would.

Asa swiftly slams the door in his face, then turns to me, placing his hands on his hips as his tux jacket opens, showing off his broad chest. The look of him is fierce, causing me to surge with anger and some heat between my legs. “You gonna lower that gun now, sugar?” His voice is just as intoxicating as his looks.

“No. Not until you swear not to hurt him.” My bottom lip quivers.

“Who is he to you?” His eyes really are something. It’s easy to see why women must fall all over him. He’s almost too good to look at. Like blindingly beautiful, especially with this worried expression.

“He’s someone important to me.” Keeping my voice steady, I swallow to prevent the lump forming in the back of my throat from spilling out into tears.

“Break it off with him.”

My heart hurts to watch him leave my life and now be with this man on my own. A stranger. With a pout, I tell him, “I already did for this sham marriage.”

Asa’s jaw drops as he audibly gasps, his blond eyebrows stitching together. “So sorry I saved you and your brother’s lives from Strauss. Who, by the way, will probably kill me as soon as he realizes I married you.”

Narrowing my eyes, I spit out, “The sooner the better.” How dare he? Wyatt would have loved to have married me.

“Wow. You know, I gave up a lot to do this, too. I had to say goodbye to a lot of women because your highness demanded it.” With a slight wave of his hand, he showcases the chapel behind him. “You wanted this fucking wedding, and I gave you one. Now what else do you want from me, empress?”

Forgetting the gun, I lower it to my side so I can point my other finger at him, my ire unleashed. “You’re getting paid from my brother’s hard work. So don’t act like this is you being honorable, Asa.”

In three long strides, he steals toward me with his structured jaw clenched and ice in his eyes. All the fury I held within transforms to fear at his formidable form. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

He snatches the firearm out of my hand and holds it out of my reach when I try to grab it, my heavy-laden dress preventing me from moving as well as I could. “Oh?” Giving up the fight, I use my other weapons as I bat my lashes at him and purse my lips. I’ve heard what he likes, and I have all the ammunition one needs to win him over. “What am I allowed to call you, then? King Consort of the South? Mr. Donovan?”

“How about ‘handsome’ or ‘best sex of my life’?”

A snort escapes my nose as I take a step closer and press my breasts into his firm chest. “Sure thing, sweet cheeks. But you’re not allowed to touch me if you hurt him.”

His lips form a tense line as he stares me down, his eyes quickly dropping to my cleavage before rising again. The feel of his stare on my body makes me tingle. Ha. Got him.

“What in the world?! Mr. Donovan!” a smaller man with tortoiseshell glasses interrupts us, zooming in from the chapel door. Asa’s face holds vehemence, but he tosses the gun onto the sofa nearby. My shoulders relax now that I know how to get the upper hand with him. “We have to get you two out of here for your safety. Who knows what Strauss will do next… The building may collapse.”

The little rodent man scurries about, pressing his glasses up his nose and waving us out a side exit door. Departing, we’re greeted by a white limousine sitting right outside. It’s equipped by a chauffeur, who holds the door open for us. When I almost trip over my long train, Asa bends and gathers up the fabric before stuffing me inside the car like he’s punching a whack-a-mole. The bottom half of my dress is now covered in dust and dirt. Flopping onto the back bench, I try to scoot all the way to the far corner before he joins me.

Neither of us spare a look at the other, and I busy my sights out the window. Things are not off to a great start and disappointment settles in my heart. I had hoped things would be different. There was a tiny dream I had that maybe he could love me, that maybe we could be like my parents, each other’s soulmates until death do us part. Tears heat my eyes as I think about it.

I wanted the fairytale.

Oddly, there was something that transpired during our first kiss as husband and wife. I’m not experienced, but I’d never been kissed like that before. Wyatt takes with his mouth when he presses it against mine like he wants to jump inside me and squeeze everything out, pulling part of me into him.

Asa and I seemed to share a moment in some dream world that reality couldn’t touch, and I thought I felt something. Something true. But I guess I was wrong.

Asa lowers the divider to the front of the car and asks, “Where’re we going? Is the party over?”

The driver peers at him through the rearview mirror before focusing back on the road. “Yes, sir. I have clear instructions to take you and your wife to the house.”

Asa sits up straight in his seat. “Wh-what? No way. I’m not going there! Who said?”

“Kline, sir. He says he’s prepared everything for your bride, and they’ll bring the wedding cake over for Mrs. Donovan to save for your anniversary. And your presents… Um, the ones that survived. With the security breach, the guards are already on duty around the perimeter, sir.”

“No, nope. Nu-uh. Turn the car around!” Practically bobbing like a boxer, he sways from side to side, some unseen enemy loitering right in front of him. It’s strange to see him so panicked over going to his own house. What’s his problem? And why is the King of the South letting these other men make his decisions?

“You know I can’t, sir. You’ll have to discuss it with Kline.” A hum interrupts the space as the driver puts the divider back up. I stare in amazement at the grown man child next to me about to detonate, the anger underneath his skin buzzing like a fluorescent bulb.

Shuffling in his coat pocket, he finds his phone and punches a button. “Kline. What the fuck? You know I don’t live there.”

Though muffled, I hear the words, “Penthouse too dangerous now.”

He shrinks against the leather and ends the call, slumping down and running a hand repeatedly through his shiny hair. “Fuck.”

Eyeing him, I ask, “What’s the big deal? Don’t you want to live in the house?”

When he turns his head to look out his window, I think he’s going to ignore me, but softly, he responds, “No.”

Oh no. My chest tightens and my hand raises to clutch my neck. A quick breath leaves my mouth and Asa turns to side-eye me. “What?”

“I forgot my bouquet!”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he holds the bridge of his nose and shakes his head slightly. “You want someone to go back into the rubble, empress? I mean, we’re already halfway to the mansion, but sure. Let’s force one of my men to go in and get it for you.”

There’s no stopping them now. Tears spring from my eyes and over my lids. My mother’s handkerchief was around the handle, and it was a symbol. East and South combining with the colors. I was going to preserve them all and give them to my daughter someday. Not anymore. If our wedding is destroyed, will there be anything left of the dreams I had for us?

I try to explain through sniffles. “I-I liked the flowers. He said there was still the cake, though, right? I can still have cake? And some presents? Some of the presents made it?” Swallowing, Asa stares at me, and the sobs overwhelm my lungs as he makes a face of disgust. He doesn’t care.

My mama and papa couldn’t be there. It was a memory I wanted for future children, ones I could hold and not let go. Max has Livia now, and I had Wyatt but had to say goodbye. There’s no one who loves me. Hiccoughing, I get out, “He said—he said there were presents and cake, too. If I can’t have a wedding or a dance… There’s cake, right?”

Asa’s blue eyes squint at me as he leans against the window. “What the fuck is wrong with you? The entrance to my casino just got blown up by your piece of shit boyfriend. People may have died in there and you’re worried about cake?!” Trying to stop the wails escaping my throat, I huff in air, but Asa just turns away and mutters, “Don’t worry, empress. We’ll make sure someone saves you some fucking cake.”

“It wasn’t Wyatt! You heard that man. He said it was Strauss!” Would Wyatt ruin my wedding? He may have, but I hope he didn’t. I thought he understood that this was a business deal for me. Although I hoped it would be more. The pain that it won’t be hurts worse than I anticipated. My future as Mrs. Donovan seems quite bleak.

Snatching a glass from the bar on the side, Asa fills it with some ice, then grabs a bottle of Crown Royal and sloppily pours, splashes soaking the leather seats. He doesn’t bother wiping it away. Chugging back the entire drink, he then throws the glass until it bounces off the window, the sound causing me to jump in my seat. He holds it by the neck as he downs more of the liquor straight from the bottle down his throat.

“Max said,” I sniff. “Max said you aren’t allowed to drink around me.”

“Listen, sugar tits. The only way I’m going to survive this marriage and not kill you is to stay drunk; I can already tell.”

“I won’t sleep with you if you’re drunk.”

“You won’t sleep with me if I kill your boyfriend. You won’t sleep with me if I’m drunk. I got news for you. Our marriage is invalid if you don’t sleep with me. I bet Strauss would love to run a little demon right into that empty womb of yours.”

He’s right, we do need to solidify the marriage, but there’s no way I’d let him touch me with the way he’s treating me. Strauss can rape me if he wants. Maybe he’d be kinder than this brute.

My utter despair turns to fury and my fist curls, ready to strike him in his perfect face. “You’re an asshole, you know that? I’ve heard about you, Ace. That you can’t even stay sober one day and lost all your parents’ money gambling. That you think you’re some gift to women everywhere and have to have a handler just to wipe your butt when you take a shit.”

“No. That’s what my wife is for.” Sitting back, he rapidly pats his leg with a palm and stares out the window, releasing a loud sigh. “God, I hope you don’t talk this much with my cock in your cunt. It’s gonna be real hard for me to nut if you do. Else, I’d shove my dick in your throat, but no, I gotta make an heir.”

With my stomach twisting into knots at the sheer amount of regret I now feel, I turn in my seat to stare out at the summer scenes. Hopes of having a big family, a nice home, and a loving husband burn up with the acid eating away at my belly. Maybe I should have married Strauss. He, at least, seemed into me.

The limo drives through wide glass gates as we enter the Donovan compound. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been here, but I do remember the odd metal sculptures standing at random intervals on the front lawn. They still look shiny and clean, like someone has kept the place up.

Light tan cobblestones line the drive up to the mansion, giving it a look of sand, while deep, tranquil pools surround the house like moats. Palm trees in large pots decorate the spacious white concrete patios, and I spot a large party area with a gigantic kitchen squatting underneath one of the many flat roof overhangs. The structure is two stories high at most points, but others jut up to three. Glass, teakwood, and white paint give the estate a natural feeling, as if we were in a desert somewhere. I like it.

Using my veil, I wipe some of the wet drops from my cheeks and try to make myself look presentable. When the car pulls up near the front door, Asa jumps out, greeted by the squirrelly looking man, who stands with a notepad and speaks to him in low tones. Asa waves his hands at him, angrily yelling. The driver hurries to help me get out of the car and, gathering my skirts, I waddle toward the house.

“No, I’ve made up the purple bedroom for you two, so you don’t have to go into that wing if you don’t want to, Ace,” the little man says.

Asa shrugs off his jacket and throws it into one of the pools, then starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing bronzed skin filled with tattoos.

The rodent man catches my eye as I sneak past and rushes to help me with my dress. With an arm extended, he points the way to the house. “Mrs. Donovan, I’m Kline Jameson, Mr. Donovan’s lawyer and secretary. I’ve had the staff set up your wedding cake in the dining area, the food in the kitchen, and the main suite is on the second story. Your staff brought over your clothes and arranged them in the closet. Smeath will be your head of staff and can help you with all the household tasks. Here he is.”

“Oh my god. What a terrific tragedy you are.” A man with a light blue button-down shirt and plaid shorts greets me with one hand on his chin, eyeing me scrupulously up and down. “Clare! Help Mrs. Donovan upstairs. I’ll take care of the wolf. Where’s the pack?”

A large Escalade barrels down the drive, kicking up stones and smoke as it swivels to a stop just behind the limo we rode in on. At the same time, a very young woman, I’m hoping eighteen, silently exits the house and gathers up my dress, nodding at me as she practically pushes me inside. Out of the SUV jumps Asa’s groomsmen in various stages of undress. Some without shirts, some without ascots. One has no pants. None are wearing their jackets. Before I can make out more of them, I’m shoved into the foyer.

“Just this way, miss. There’s an elevator in the back hall,” the young girl says.

“I remember. That’s one thing I do remember about this place.” On our way, we pass through the nearly bare dining room, which looks out of the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the blue waters outside. The four-tiered cake I chose is sitting in the middle of the long table, alone. Seeing it there by itself makes my heart hurt all over again. When I chose it, it was supposed to be for a joyous occasion. For an event I had always dreamed of since childhood. It didn’t matter who the groom was. I had hopes for it. It was always meant to be shared with friends, and now, it’s just pathetic. And mocks me with its height.

My new bedroom is much larger than the ones back home or any I’ve ever had. Between living in dorm rooms at boarding school, or in our tiny one bedroom with Maxi once I graduated, I feel like I’ll get lost in a place like this. It’s like three rooms in one. The walls are painted a deep eggplant, and the furniture is minimal, but comfortable looking. There’s an art deco pink floral chaise by the window and an oversized king bed in the middle of the room with a padded velvet seashell headboard.

Through a set of sliding double doors, I enter a giant closet, half filled with men’s clothes, and the rest are mine. A bathroom is located through another door along the side wall. Clare silently helps me undress, removing all my fine jewels and accessories first before moving to the back.

“Be careful with the buttons. They’re delicate.” When I put the dress on, I hoped that maybe I would have a daughter to give it to one day. Now, I don’t want that wolf near my vagina.

“Yes, miss. I’ll have the cleaners fix it up for storage when you’ve changed.” Her voice remains low and monotone.

“How old are you anyway?” I try to keep the snap out of my voice, but her presence here makes me uncomfortable.

As she stands, her long light brown ponytail bobs, but she doesn’t make eye contact. “I’m nineteen, ma’am. Can I help you get into another dress?”

“No, thanks.” Part of me wonders if my husband has slept with her. And, if so, does he plan to continue to do so? She’s plain, not fully developed into her womanly curves yet. Maybe he doesn’t like them that way.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll prepare this dress for the cleaners, then.”

Just as she turns to leave, I stop her. “Clare?”

“Yes?”

“Are you happy working here?”

Lifting her eyes to my face, it’s clear she is determined to lie. “Uh, yes. Of course.”

“Did you always work here?”

“N-no. I was going to train to be a dealer when I turned twenty-one, but I needed to work somewhere until then.”

Nodding, I let her go with a thanks.

After she scuttles out of the room, I pick out a short white tank dress, then pull off my stockings and garter belt, and slip on some platform sandals. Standing before the full-length mirror, I try to wipe away some more tears that escaped and put on a fake happy face.

At least there’s cake.

My phone rings. Max, probably flipping out about what happened.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Ari, are you okay? Are you safe?” He’s out of breath, panicked, I can tell.

“Yeah, I’m fine! We made it back to the house now. Do you want to come over and have the party here?”

“Sorry, but I brought Livia home. It’s too dangerous for her to be there. Need to keep the baby and her safe, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. Ace treating you well?”

Trying to contain my sigh, I tell him, “Yep. Everything’s good. I’ll see you soon.”

I know that if I ask him to, Maxi will come right over and kill my new husband. But that would also murder any dream I have that things could be good.

Wandering around the house, I familiarize myself with everything. Some of the wedding food made it into the kitchen where the trays have been laid out like a buffet, but when I glance at it, I don’t find anything appetizing anymore. When approaching a wide hall past the conservatory and living room, loud voices echo off the marble floor. I pretend to be very interested in the fish tank near the back wall as I walk casually toward it, listening in.

“No, you know the rules.” The squirrelly man says.

Asa puffs out, “Fuck you, Kline. I earned that money by marrying her. I’m just asking for one thousand dollars. That’s nothing. S’not even enough to sit at a low table. Casino’s closed, right? So what would I have to spend it on?” Some of me finds myself irritated along with my new spouse. Is this man trying to control his finances? Our finances?

“Okay, then you don’t need it if you have nothing to spend it on.”

“Fine. I’ll take five hundred dollars. That’s it. Just some food money.”

There’s a pause in their conversation and I watch the betta fish dart in graceful undulations across the tank.

Asa busts in again with, “Three hundred. That’s my final offer.”

“None. That’s what you get. The kitchen is stocked with food. Go enjoy your new wife, Ace,” Kline answers. So Asa’s not allowed to have money. Hmm.

I hear some muttering before Asa exits the room and slams the door, the portraits on the walls jumping to attention. I remain perfectly still so he doesn’t see me and, fortunately, he doesn’t as he heads in the opposite direction. As I slither out, I get lost, then run smack into him at the bottom of the main staircase, seemingly contemplating his next direction. Spinning around, he glares at me with his brilliant blue eyes, and the utter perfection of him makes me hold my breath.

“There you are. I need my dick taken care of. Let’s go make a baby.”

A gasp passes my lips. Asa terrifies me. There’s no way I want him taking my virginity in his current state. I barely know him. We haven’t even danced together. “No. I-I want cake.”

“Fuck your cake. It’s been, like, eight days since I got head. I’ve been celibate for you. Move your ass, sugar tits.”

As I back away from him, his eyes narrow at me like he’s a predator. My stomach tightens at the thought of him forcing himself on me. Holding up my palms, I wave him away. “No. I didn’t even get my wedding.”

Tossing his hands on his hips, fury radiates off him in waves. His neck practically disappears as his shoulders rise to meet his ears. “You got your fucking wedding, wife. Now it’s share time. I gotta get off or I’m gonna fucking explode.”

My mouth hangs open at his insinuation that I’m just some breeding cow for him to use. “Explode then! I’m having cake!” Brushing past him, I let my shoulder bump his, and hurry into the dining room. Before I can carve a slice, however, Asa follows me and shoves his body in between me and the table.

“You want cake that bad, huh? Here’s your fucking cake.” Unbuckling his belt and opening his pants, he pulls out his thick cock and strokes himself rapidly while I try to look away and not stare at him pumping it with a rough grip.

“No! No! What are you doing?” Horrified, I stand back with my hand shielding my vision. The gesture is obscene and oddly arousing. I’ve never watched a man pleasure himself like this before. Like he’s got a point to prove to the world, and he does it with the spear in his hand. Trying to avert my eyes, I stare at the light fixture, but am drawn to the powerful creature in front of me. My pulse races with fear and excitement.

“Show me your tits,” he grits out, spit flying from the corners of his taut lips.

I shake my head and edge away from him, but he inches closer with a few shuffles, his ire turning to rage as his face fills with blood.

“Pull down your fucking dress and show me your tits.”

“No.” My back hits the corner wall and I’m trapped. If I try to sidestep, I’m afraid of what he’ll do. Will he actually hurt me?

With an exasperated sigh, he lets his head hang back and quickens the pace of his maddening masturbation, a slight growl erupting through his gritted teeth. “Fine. Here’s your perfect fucking wedding cake.” Gripping his length, he scoots his hips closer to the bottom two tiers and spurts rope after rope of cum all over the white icing, the cream from the end of his cock coating all the flowers the decorator spent a week on. Ones I changed my mind about three times until they were perfect. Even when I think he’s done, he lets out a tiny grunt and squeezes out a little more, then shoves his entire dick inside the sponge.

His hips thrust in and out of the dessert mockingly. “Now…eat your cake, empress.”

Closing my open jaw, I lift an upper lip in disgust. Absolutely gross. He just ruined everything about today, and the only thing I had left, he jizzed all over. “I can’t believe you just did that!” I point to the cake in outrage, tears welling up in my eyes for the tenth time today.

“Eat up.” He grabs a handful of the cake and stalks toward me. Swiftly looking around, I move to escape and run down the hall. When I do, my platforms trip me up, slowing me until he snatches my waist with one strong arm and shoves the tainted food into my face with the other, smooshing my nose.

Screaming like a banshee and spitting out the poison, I try to twist and shake him off me, but it’s impossible. His grip firms around me, holding me against his chest. “You’re a madman!” Finally, he takes a step back, and I can breathe again. When I do, I slide over to the cake and pick up the entire middle layer, plunging it on his head before he can react.

“Bitch!” Fingers fly across his face as he gathers up some chunks and flings it at me, hitting me in the eyes.

I slump to the ground, sobbing in the midst of the mess of what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

Looming over me, he huffs a few breaths, some pieces of the chocolate layer dripping onto my head. I sniff and stare at his once polished Italian loafers, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“You better be prepared the next time I ask for my dick to be serviced, wife.” With a shove, he kicks some frosting at me, the splatters painting my white dress brown. Then he turns and sprints up the stairs. The pain of his demands turns into a powerful fire scorching inside me.

He better be prepared to have his dick ripped off if he tries.